


Wishes of the Ambitious

by withthekeyisking



Series: Eating Away at What is Good [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Jason Todd, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blackmail, Bondage, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Collars, Conditioning, Creepy Roman Sionis, Daddy Kink, Dehumanization, Dick Grayson Angst, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Glove Kink, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Guilt, M/M, Photographs, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Protective Jason Todd, Rope Bondage, Secret Identity, Sub Dick Grayson, Threats of Violence, Undercover Missions, Victim Blaming, kinda???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Jason detests the idea of asking Dick for help on a case he's been working formonths,but he's not going to let his pride get in the way of taking down so many big players, including Black Mask.But with what he finds out along the way, he might come to regret that decision.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Roman Sionis
Series: Eating Away at What is Good [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616026
Comments: 141
Kudos: 521
Collections: Dick Grayson Rare Pair Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

Jason's reached a point where he doesn't want to punch Dick every time they work together, reached a point where he can _maybe_ even _enjoy_ the time they spend together, but that doesn't mean he is in any way is okay with Dick sticking his nose into one of Jason's cases.

What's even worse is when he has to _ask_ Dick for his help.

Because, look, Jason's been working this case for a while. It's _his_ job. He's put in the effort, the undercover work, the research. He's been doing well, and he doesn't appreciate the fact that he has to go to the fucking batcave and look the Golden Boy in the eye and ask for his fucking help.

"I just need a distraction," Jason says firmly, trying to ignore how pleased Dick looks by the conversation, by the fact that Jason's engaging him in a work-related situation. "That's it. Just a pretty face to dazzle the bad guys while I get into the office, get the information I need, and get out. Okay? I don't need any back-up or whatever, just that Dickie Wayne smile of yours and maybe some tight pants."

Dick's eyebrows go up slowly, but he doesn't look offended, just amused. "So am I going in as _Dickie Wayne,_ or should I dust off some alias?"

Jason snorts. "Nah, just the fake-real-you. It's a club with a lot of rich people, probably will be a few who recognize you, and though I don't doubt you are good at disguises, your already public persona will do the trick."

"So I just go in, throw money around, flirt a lot, and show off my ass?"

Jason offers a teasing smirk, because he's _trying,_ goddammit. Trying to let them be brothers again. "Now you're just describing the regular you, Goldie. Who _hasn't_ seen that ass of yours?"

Dick's expression twitches, the genuine contentment in his eyes fading for a moment, and it leaves Jason feeling strangely wrong-footed, wondering what he said; jokes like that are made all the time about Dick, and he's always taken it good-naturedly.

Of course, it only fades for barely a moment before coming back full force, making Jason wonder if he'd imagined the break, if he's simply looking too far into things that aren't that deep.

"Then it should be an easy mission for me," Dick drawls, as if in agreement.

Jason frowns. He's missing something here. "Are you—"

He doesn't get the chance to finish his question, the roar of the batmobile filling the cave as Bruce returns from patrol. Jason scowls and picks up his helmet, securing it back over his head as Bruce exits the car, glancing over to where Nightwing and Red Hood are talking.

"I'll see you in three days, Goldie," Jason says gruffly, having no interest in talking with Bruce. They've reached an equilibrium, and Jason isn't gonna risk tipping the balance right now. It isn't worth it, especially because Dick's there and would try to play mediator, and then they'd _all_ be wrapped up in another thing of bullshit. "I'll message you the details."

"Sure, Jay," Dick agrees, and the apologetic grimace on his face as he glances at Bruce tells Jason that his brother knows what's going through his head. "See you then."

* * *

It really isn't supposed to be a challenging mission.

The club they need to infiltrate—called _The Tavern,_ which Jason thinks is stupid because it is _nothing_ like a tavern—is a hot spot for the rich and powerful, especially if they've got some less-than-clean ties. It isn't unusual to see someone like Falcone or Maroni or even Penguin or Black Mask hanging about the place, doing business or maybe even enjoying themselves for once.

Part casino, dance floor, bar, and even a small restaurant attached. Plus, of course, the backrooms where you could pay someone for their time, or get a few pick-me-ups that are on the not-quite-legal side of things.

It's a despicable place, filled with so many people who pretend to be good people and then show that they're really not by rubbing elbows with mobsters and murderers.

Jason, because of his reputation and continued position in the criminal underworld, definitely wouldn't be given a funny look for showing up, especially on a night like this when the place is _filled_ with the bigger names of organized crime, anyone who's anyone showing up. And then all the stupid rich civilians who still pop up, thinking nothing could possibly go wrong when being surrounded by people like Black Mask.

Of course, Roman Sionis is a special kind of asshole, and should be placed above the rest in Jason's book. They're at a balanced point right now—kind of like Jason with Bruce—where they can do business and _get along,_ but still grate against each other like puzzle pieces that don't quite fit. They have a working relationship, and Jason tries to leave it at that, never spending time around the man if he can help it.

Okay, so very much like Jason with Bruce.

The only challenging part of this mission is maneuvering around all of the big egos in the room, but Jason's old hat at that. And with Dick acting as his distraction in his pretty Dickie Wayne persona, all flirtacious smiles and just-tight-enough clothing and not too many brain cells in his head, it's gonna be even easier. Because despite the homophobia that mobs and mafias tend to preach, they certainly don't practice it nearly as well as they'd like others to believe.

Jason _knows_ how many of these big players will buy hook, line, and sinker into Dick's acting, and nothing distracts a man more than the wish to get a hot piece of ass. All Dick has to do is play around and distract the bad guys while Jason slips into the backrooms for the records he's after, and then slip away in the confusion once Jason sets off the fire alarm.

Easy peasy.

"How ya lookin', Dickie?" Jason murmured into his comm, strolling through the club. A passing waiter offers him a glass of champagne, and Jason almost wishes he wasn't wearing his helmet so that the boy could see his amused expression; trays of champagne circulating like this is some gala instead of a den of criminal activity is extremely funny to him for some reason.

"No thanks," Jason says, his voice modulator keeping the humor from coming across, especially because he doesn't plan on removing his helmet; it makes it easier to hide his communication with Dick.

 _"Pretty sexy, if I do say so myself,"_ is his brother's response, which prompts Jason to roll his eyes because they both knew that isn't what he meant.

"Smart ass." Jason spots Maroni and a few of his men over by the bar, having a conversation with one of the Yakuza lieutenants. They all have pleasant smiles on their faces, but it's not hard to see the tension.

 _"It's like you're begging me to make a joke about how smart my ass really is,"_ Dick replies, and Jason can hear the grin in his voice. _"But all's good; I'm across the street, watching the place. I'll enter in about fifteen minutes, and then show time."_

Jason hums his agreement; it was their agreed-upon plan, and Jason has to admit that planning with Dick hasn't been awful. They work well together, despite what Jason would like to say. Dick's got a big personality, used to being in charge, but he hasn't tried to take control of this op, instead following Jason's lead and offering some helpful advice.

It's been...good, he supposes. Not as horrible as it could be. Maybe worth doing again sometime in the future.

Not that Jason is gonna _tell_ Dick that, of course. He'd never hear the end of it.

Jason makes the rounds, avoiding the people who he knows would immediately start shit with him—or he'd feel the need to start shit with—and talking with some business partners, or people he gets along fine with. He has to keep up appearances, after all.

"Haven't bumped into you around here before, Red," a familiar voice drawls, and Jason contains a sigh before he turns around.

"We'll have to check our calendars, plan a day," Jason drawls right back, putting as much disdain in his voice as he can without offending; he's good at that. "Apparently we just keeping missing each other."

Roman Sionis offers him a smirk. "Such a shame. I do miss your _titillating_ conversational skills."

Jason snorts. Sure.

"What brings you here tonight?" Roman asks, and Jason hates how the man is such a suspicious bastard, how he can make everything sound like an accusation. Another thing he and Bruce have in common.

"Amusement," Jason replies. "Anytime you put this many egos in one room and add alcohol and gambling, something's bound to get violent. I had nothing better to do tonight, figured I might as well watch some morons crash and burn."

Roman shakes his head, but he clearly believes Jason's lie.

A loud cheer draws both of their attention, and Jason sees that Dick has made his entrance, and is now standing at a roulette table, surrounded by a crowd, all excited by his apparent win. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright, as if he arrived already intoxicated, and his smile is blinding. He's drawing the attention he's supposed to, especially in that tailored—and extremely flattering—suit he's wearing.

Case in point—when Jason glances back to Roman, the mobster's gaze is locked onto Dick, something predatory in his gaze, pleasure in the curl of his lips. Unsurprising; all these mafia guys are the same, easily distracted by just a pretty face. Even, apparently, one as smart as Black Mask.

"If you'll excuse me," Roman says, voice low and smooth, already beginning to walk away. "I've spotted an old friend."

Jason frowns, and then remembers that there were a few years where Roman Sionis wasn't openly a mobster and still ran in the same circles as Bruce, and probably met Dick in their civilian personas quite a few times. Well, if Roman thinks that'll be an in to get into Dick's pants, then who is Jason to dissuade him? After all, that's the point of Dick's presence, to draw attention that might otherwise be on Jason.

Jason waits a few more minutes, watching the crowds move and the attention shift, and then slips towards the back, ready to get what he's been looking for for so long, and then get him and his brother out of here.

* * *

Dick plays the role of a ditsy socialite far less often than Bruce does, because if he did it all the time then no one could believe he was such an excellent cop _(given, he's not a cop anymore),_ but he's cultivated an image that people see, and part of it is that is when Dickie Wayne gets drinking, he's the life of the party.

So, that's what he's doing tonight. It's not hard to fake intoxication, and he allows himself to play off the crowd, lets their energy push him higher. He recognizes some people, takes note of the ones who clearly know the kind of place they're in and the ones simply looking for a fun place to party.

That's why Dickie Wayne is at The Tavern, after all; just looking for a place to unwind after a busy week.

He moves table to table, forcing himself to lose as much as he wins, to not let himself come off as too good at any of this—gambling is all probability and patterns, and Bruce's training gave an unintended bonus of making all his kids very good at gambling.

At every second he can feel eyes on him, and he forces himself to not let it get to him; on patrol, the feeling of someone watching would be cause for concern. Here, it's simply because his suit shows off his figure and his smile is warm and drunk and the slightest bit flirtacious. No one here is going to attack him. Try to grab his ass, maybe, but not attack.

"Why don't you blow on this for me, baby," someone says to him at a craps table. He recognizes the man as one of Falcone's lieutenants, a certified sleezeball who's been banned from four legitimate strip clubs for trying to take more than is given. He also has put a few prostitutes in the hospital with battered faces, and an ex-wife much the same.

But Dick isn't supposed to know any of that, so instead he offers a drunken and delighted grin and leans in, pursing his lips to blow on the dice for luck. The sleezeball tracks the movement with hungry eyes, and Dick knows quite a few others do as well. It's just too easy.

He wonders how Jason's doing. He's waiting for the fire alarm, the sign that it's time to go, but his job isn't the hard part. _Jason's_ the one who has to actually infiltrate the place. Dick just has to walk around, flirt a little, and act intoxicated. Easy peasy.

Sleezeball throws the dice, and then crowd cheers at the rolled seven proclaiming his success. Sleezeball grins and moves as if he's going to wrap his arm around Dick and pull him against himself, but the man's slow enough that Dick sees the move coming from a mile away. He shifts his weight and then stumbles back a step, offering an apologetic giggle to the person he bumps into. This "accidental" move gets him out of Sleezeball's reach, and then he allows himself to be "distracted" to the bar by a couple of girls wanting his attention.

They're all certainly drunk, so they wouldn't notice if he pretended to down the shot they put in his hand, but he knows there are far more eyes on him than just these girls, who would _definitely_ take note of the drunk rich boy pretending to drink. It would raise too many questions.

So, he throws the shot back, tossing some peanuts into his mouth afterwards. His tolerance is much higher than it used to be, and one shot isn't going to do anything more than provide a very small buzz in his head. It won't put him anywhere close to drunk, and won't impede his ability to stay on task.

He goes to the dance floor after that and allows himself to be pulled against various people, offering flirtacious smiles or shy grins depending on how handsy the person gets. He's become an expert at removing himself from unwanted touches, and it isn't any harder to do it while still not making the person feel like he's rejecting them.

At one point he has to stumble off to the bathroom, or an accident is going to occur and wouldn't _that_ be awkward. So he allows one of the girls to press a kiss to his cheek, allows Maroni's son to huskily say _Hurry back_ in his ear, and then slides through the crowd towards the restroom.

It's blessedly quiet inside, the roar of the crowd talking and cheering and dancing muted, and after Dick uses the toilet he allows himself a moment to just breathe, to splash some water on his face. He hears the door open and withholds a sigh, ready to plaster the drunk smile back on his face and get back out there, but when he raises his head, a familiar pair of eyes meet his in the mirror.

Dick's blood goes cold.

"Hello, Richard," Roman Sionis says, stepping into the bathroom. He lets the door fall shut behind him, and then locks it with a finalizing click that echoes through the room. "It's been a long time."

Dick opens his mouth, but no words come out. He's frozen in place, his chest uncomfortably tight, his pulse beginning to pound in his ears. Why hadn't he considered Roman would be here tonight? Of _course_ he would be here tonight! How could he have been so fucking _stupid—_

"You're looking very well," Roman continues, unbothered by his silence, gaze dragging up and down Dick's form. A smirk tugs at his lips. "I always did like dressing you up in a fitted suit. Almost as much as I liked ripping it off of you afterwards."

A shudder runs through Dick's body. No, this can't be happening. He needs to get out of here, he needs to get away from Roman, he can't do this again.

Dick turns around, trying to look like this isn't affecting him, straightening to his full height. But Roman still has four inches on him, and while he's not as bulky as Jason or Bruce, it's still a significant different in size. It makes him feel small and young, and he hates himself for it.

"Get out of the way," he says, and is impressed with himself for how even his voice comes out.

Roman gives him a disapproving look, and Dick hates how hard it hits him, how it makes an apology bubble at the back of his throat that he works hard to clamp down on.

"Now, now," Roman chastises, "that wasn't very nice. You know better than to talk to me like that."

The man takes a few steps further into the bathroom, casual and relaxed. Dick's hands clench on the edge of the countertop, the counter digging into the small of his back as he unconsciously tries to press further away from Roman's approach.

"God, did you pour yourself into that suit?" Roman asks, a hint of awe in his voice. A hint of condescension. "Showing off your ass to the entire goddamn world. Sweetheart, if you wanted my attention, you could've just _asked."_

That sends a jolt through Dick, a shock to his system.

 _"No,"_ he says firmly. "No, I'm not here for you, I didn't know you'd be here, I didn't _want—"_

Roman shushes him, and Dick cuts off automatically, then grinds his teeth. He can't believe he's still listening, he can't believe he just followed that instruction—

But Roman smiles at him, pleased. "Very good." Dick's heart clenches.

The mobster talks another strolling step forward, then another. They're only a few feet apart now. Dick wants to escape, wants to get out, but Roman's blocking the way to the door and Dick doesn't know if he has the ability to push past the man if he's grabbed.

"What are you doing here, Richard? This isn't typically your scene."

Dick scrambles for his story, his thoughts scattered by Roman's presence. "I had a hard week," he says, quiet and small, hating himself for it. Roman takes another step closer. "I just wanted—I just wanted to let off a little steam, a friend told me about this place, I just..."

He trails off, Roman's proximity stealing the words from his mouth. The man looks so confident, so in control. Just like he always did. It makes Dick feel like a teenager again, vulnerable and desperate and alone, with only Roman by his side.

Fuck, what a gullible kid he'd been. Looking back, he knows. He knows how many people he could've turned to, how many options he had. He _knows_ that now. But back then...

Well. Back then he'd been close to letting himself jump off of a building without a line to catch him. He felt alone and abandoned, thought Bruce's word was law throughout the superhero community. And Roman had been there, and smart enough to manipulate his insecurities.

He knows all of that now. And yet Roman is standing barely a foot away from him and he still feels everything he felt back then, still reacts the exact same way.

"You really do look so gorgeous," Roman murmurs, and Dick tries to pretend his breath doesn't catch at the praise.

The mobster reaches out and brushes his hand down the side of Dick's face, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Dick stands frozen, unable to force himself to move, unable to pull away from the touch, struggling to reconcile the gentleness of it with who he knows Black Mask truly is.

"Always such a beautiful boy. _My_ beautiful boy."

"I'm not yours," Dick says, finally feeling the strength he's been longing for this entire interaction. "I don't _belong_ to you—" His words cut off with a cry of pain, Roman tangling his fingers in his hair and _yanking_ his head back, forcing him back into an arch to lessen some of the pain. It puts him in an uncomfortable position bending over the sink behind him, the edge of the counter digging into his back.

 _"Ah,_ Roman, let go—"

Roman tuts disapprovingly and steps forward between Dick's legs, his free hand rising to rest on Dick's hip, thumb stroking leisurely under his suit jacket, firm enough that Dick can feel it as if it were skin-to-skin contact instead of a shirt and a glove being between them.

"Oh, sweetheart, I _know_ you have better manners than that," Roman chastises, eyes narrowed, making Dick's shoulders tense. "But I can be generous, give you a chance to start over. How's that sound?"

Dick knows what Roman wants to hear right now, the man's three favorite words. He knows that if he says them, Roman will relax his painful grip on his hair, give Dick a bit more control over the arch of his spine. It'll relax the whole situation.

 _Like a treat for a dog after performing a trick,_ his mind sneers at him.

"Okay," Dick says instead, because he _refuses_ to play this sick man's games, refuses to give him exactly what he wants. If he says it, if he does what he wants, then what point was there in leaving at all? Why escape if he rolls right over the instant Roman puts his hands on him?

Roman's eyes narrow further, dangerous now, thoroughly displeased. The apology is on the tip of Dick's tongue, desperate to be released, to make Roman feel better, be happier with him.

He bites it back.

"Alright," Roman allows, but his displeasure is clear. "Let's start over, then. When I say _Hello, Richard,_ what is your response?"

Dick pants once, twice, three times. He's impressed with himself when he just says, "Hey."

Roman's lips twist into something of a smile, nasty and mean, and his hand tightens in Dick's hair, drawing a gasp of pain. "You want to try that again?" he asks, and his voice is sickly sweet, eyes burning. "Because you're really trying Daddy's patience right now, baby."

Dick shudders. Whether at the anger or the title or both, he doesn't quite know.

He opens his mouth to respond, and he has no idea what he's going to say, has no clue if he's going to give in to what Roman wants, if he's going to call him _that_ like he's still nothing more than that broken nineteen-year-old boy desperately searching for someone to take care of him.

He doesn't know what he's going to say.

And luckily, he doesn't have to find out, because right in that moment, the fire alarm starts blaring.

Thank _fuck_ for Jason Todd, saving Dick from a truly awful situation.

Roman glances over towards the door, irritation flickering across his expression, and then back to Dick. He makes no moves to let go, to back up and head for the exit like you're supposed to when the fire alarm goes off.

"We need to go," Dick says, voice strained. "There could be a fire."

But Roman simply hums, tilting his head. He leans in and presses a kiss to Dick's neck, right over his speeding pulse, and Dick can feel him smile against his skin as it gets even faster at the contact.

"They'll handle it," Roman murmurs. "And we have _so_ much to catch up on, sweetheart."

* * *

When Dick is a minute late to the meet point, Jason isn't the slightest bit worried. Delays happen all the time on missions, so many variables at play, it isn't a big deal.

When he's five minutes late, Jason decides to check in on the comms, see what's up. "Earth to Dickface, you on your way?"

He waits a beat, and then another, and with still no response from Dick, concern sets in. He pulls up the GPS location on Dick's comm unit, and sees that he's still in the Tavern, right off the main floor, which makes Jason frown; why the hell is Dick still in the building? The fire alarm's going off like crazy, people are filing out of the building—why would Dick not be moving?

Jason pushes down the thought that pops into his mind unbidden, that maybe there's a reason he's not moving and not answering, maybe one of the many awful people in the Tavern got him. Did something to him. ... _Killed_ him.

He moves quickly. He's only on a rooftop a street away, and makes it back to the club in barely any time at all. He ignores the fire alarm, changing the settings on his helmet to dull the sound of it little, and almost runs towards the location of Dick's comm unit.

He pulls up short outside the men's bathroom and takes a moment to breathe, calm himself, and take stock of his weapons. He's fully armed, of course. Ready for whatever he might find behind that door. Not that's he's gonna find _anything_ amiss, of course. Dick is just taking a long pee break.

Yeah.

One hand resting on a sheathed gun, he reaches out with the other, pushing down the door handle. But it—it's locked. Jason swallows down the anxiety that he totally doesn't feel, and pulls out his lockpick, undoing it quickly and shoving the door open.

What he sees pulls him up short. Dick's there, for sure, and clearly still alive. He's pressed up against the countertop, bending back over it in a way that seems painful, neck arched just as far.

It's the person pinning Dick against the sink, hand in his hair, that really makes Jason's brain disconnect for a moment. Fucking _Black Mask_ has his mouth attached to Dick's neck, a flash of teeth worrying at the skin, and his hand seems to be— _Christ,_ it looks like his hand is down the front of Dick's pants, Dick's hips jerking in response.

Dick's face is scrunched up in what could be interpreted as distress but is probably pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed, bottom lip bright red as he bites it almost hard enough to bleed. Both his hands are clenched on the edge of the counter, and every few moments his arms jerk like he wants to let go and raise them, but keeps reminding himself not to.

Jason is stunned still for far longer than his vigilante instincts call for. It's long enough that Roman takes note of the new presence—and yet Dick still doesn't, seems they're both failing their instincts right now—turning his head to glance over at the door. He takes note of the Red Hood standing in the doorway, and quirks an eyebrow at him, hand still moving in Dick's pants.

"Hey, Red," Roman greets, and Dick's eyes _snap_ open with a gasp, gaze darting over to Jason. Fuck, is Jason grateful for his helmet. He's not sure he's capable of wiping off his stunned expression any time soon. "Can I help you?"

"Can't you hear the alarm?" Jason asks, and it's only _years_ of training that gives him the ability to fix on a bored tone, the voice modulator in his helmet keeping the strain thrumming through his voice from coming across. "There's a fucking _fire,_ Mask."

"I appreciate your concern," Roman says, dipping his head. "But the Tavern has an excellent system for getting rid of problems such as fires, and considering the lack of active sprinklers, I'm gonna say that this is a false alarm."

The mobster's arm shifts, and Dick jaw drops down with an inarticulate, _"Guh,"_ eyes rolling back. Roman looks back to him, gaze predatory, soaking in Dick's response.

Jason cannot believe what he's seeing. He can't believe Dick's actually doing this, hooking up with _Black Mask_ of all people in a bathroom. The fucking Golden Boy is—wow. Just wow.

 _Well,_ Jason thinks bitterly, _I did tell Dick to act as a distraction for the bad guys._

But he can't just... _leave_ Dick here, can he? It would serve him right, find a way out of the bed he'd made by himself. He's tempted to do it, to turn around and just _leave,_ but then Dick's eyes open again and he looks over at Jason, and there's—that's desperation in his eyes, the kind the settles like a stone in Jason's gut.

"Much as I'd like to leave you and your toy here," Jason drawls to Roman, pretending not to notice Dick's flinch at the term, "your men were calling for you. Something about a payment on the docks not going through."

Roman tenses, his lips curling into a sneer, and then draws away from Dick with obvious reluctance.

Dick lets out a heavy breath, panting, and watches Roman warily as the mobster rights his own clothing. When Roman steps forward again and pulls up the zipper on Dick's pants, the hero jolts, then fumbles with shaking hands to do the button and belt himself. His face is flushed, his hair thoroughly a mess. He ducks his head, avoiding looking Roman—or Jason—in the eye.

But Roman breaks that by taking ahold of Dick's chin and forcing his head up, capturing his gaze. Jason's hand twitches on his gun.

"C'mon, sweetheart, time to go," Roman says, nodding towards the door.

Dick's eyes are wide as he shakes his head as much as he can with the grip on his face. "No, I-I have to go home. I have work tomorrow, and a life to live. I...No, I'm not going with you."

Roman tuts, displeased, and Dick twitches. "Richard—"

"No," Dick says hoarsely, and draws back, wrapping his arms around himself. His hands are shaking.

Roman stares at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed, and Jason's ready to intervene if he needs to, maybe punch Roman in the face to really let him understand the meaning of the word _No._

But Roman doesn't try to force the issue. Instead, he just leans forward with a smirk, tilting his head towards Dick, and says, "You know what you need, sweetheart. I've shown you. And you know _I'm_ the only one who can give it to you. So when you wake up and accept it, you know where to find me."

Then he pulls back again, straightens his sleeves, and heads for the door. "Red," he acknowledges, brushing past him, and then vanishes down the hall.

The bathroom is silent beneath the blaring of the fire alarm. You'd think by this point, someone would've turned if off.

"What—" Jason starts, heading for _the fuck was that,_ but Dick cuts him off.

"Not here, okay?" Dick says, voice strained. He won't meet Jason's eyes as he runs a hand through his hair, trying to put it into some form of order. "I know you have questions, but just—can we—?"

And because he's not really a total asshole, Jason agrees. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

The car ride back to the cave is silent.

Jason keeps sneaking glances at Dick out of the corner of his eye, watching. Normally, Jason would be sure that the older man knew exactly what he was doing, but right now Dick looks far too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay any attention to the attention he's receiving.

He looks...rattled, which puts a sour taste in Jason's mouth, making his reevaluate the situation. At first he'd thought the Golden Boy was just going the extra mile to complete his mission, something he would no doubt get away with despite it being so _fucking_ irresponsible and insane, but now that he's taken a step back from the situation, he can acknowledge how fucked up everything really looked.

As Nightwing, Dick could've easily broken the pin Black Mask had on him. But as civilian Dick Grayson, _intoxicated_ no less, he couldn't do anything without blowing his cover. He'd had to play the role, and Bruce practically drilled _Mission First_ into their skulls from Day One, no matter the personal cost.

Jason's hands tighten on the steering wheel.

There's a hickie forming on Dick's neck, Jason can see. More than one, actually. His lips bitten red, his hair sticking up in multiple directions, his clothes rumpled. If not for the furrow between his brows and the restless way his hands are twitching against his thighs, Jason would say his brother looks like he'd had a very good night indeed.

Instead, he's left wondering what the fuck really just happened, and why the hell what Roman said seemed to imply he and Dick had had a similar conversation before.

When they pull into the batcave, Jason can _see_ Dick raising his walls again, settling into his skin, smoothing his expression into something unbothered. It makes Jason incredulous—as if he's going to buy that, after the stressed out car ride?—but then he spots Bruce by the computer, and realizes the act isn't for him this time.

By the time they step out of the car, Dick looks completely at ease, and if Jason didn't know better, he'd buy it. How often does Dick do this? How often does he trick them all into thinking he's perfectly fine while he truly isn't? And how the hell had none of them ever noticed?

"You're joking, right?" Jason asks flatly, pulling off his helmet as Dick begins to walk away, heading for the showers like they don't have something to discuss. "Get your ass back here."

He can see that they've gained Bruce's attention—hell, Jason's mere _presence_ is enough to garner that—and when Dick raises an eyebrow at Jason as if there's nothing wrong, he can see the older hero's jaw tick, like he knows Bruce is listening, too, and isn't happy about it.

"Jason," Dick begins, and his exasperated and _light_ tone is enough for Jason to interrupt, completely uninterested in whatever _nothing's wrong_ bullshit Dick was about to spew.

"Uh-uh," Jason says, shaking his head. "You're not getting out of this. What the _hell_ happened back there? You didn't make it to the meet point, didn't answer when I called you on comms, and then when I went searching for you I found you hooking up in the bathroom with Black Mask!"

Dick's nostrils flare. Bruce gets to his feet.

"That's not what happened." Dick's voice is perfectly controlled, not a hint of emotion, but at least he's dropped the fake _I'm fine_ voice.

"Then tell me what _did_ happen," Jason says stubbornly.

The cave falls silent, but Jason doesn't back down, glaring at his brother, ready to wait him out.

Dick releases a slow breath through his nose. His hands twitch at his sides, and then he slides them into the pockets of his slacks as if to hide the motion.

He says, "I left the floor to go use the bathroom. I was just about to go back out when R—Black Mask entered and locked the door. He got very close, holding onto me to keep me from leaving, which I couldn't force my way out of because I was supposed to be a drunk Dick Grayson, not Nightwing. The fire alarm went off, but he didn't want to leave. He got my pants open. You arrived, and got us out of there. Can I go take a shower now?"

Jason swallows heavily. He wants to hit himself; of _course_ Dick didn't decide hooking up with Black Mask would be a fun thing to do, he just didn't know what else to do. Black Mask had forced him into that position. It was assault, that's it. Fuck, Jason's an asshole, being so confrontational about this.

"Are you alright?" Jason asks quietly.

Dick smiles thinly. "I'm _fine,_ Jay. Did you get the information you needed?"

It's not even close to Dick's smoothest redirect, but Jason's absolutely not going to call him out on it.

His expression twists. "Most of it," he grumbles. "The backing information I needed was there, the pieces tying Falcone to Penguin and the Yakuza, and the records for the shipments of drugs I'd been searching for. But I _know_ that Maroni and Black Mask are involved in this little ring, especially on the human trafficking side, but they've covered their tracks better and didn't leave anything at the Tavern. I can see the holes in the information where their participation would be, but without it I can't tie them to it."

"Do you know where they'd keep the information?" Bruce asks, walking closer to them.

Jason scowls. He really doesn't want Bruce involved in any of this—the man has a tendency to steamroll and take things over—but so far it's just an innocent question. If it gets less innocent, Jason'll leave. Nothing they can do to stop him.

"Maroni probably has it in a safe in his mansion, which won't be _too_ hard to get to. _Irritating as fuck,_ definitely, because his security measures are a bitch, which is why I wanted to get it in one fell swoop at the Tavern, but I can do it. It's Black Mask that I really hate, because the paranoid bastard is smart in his paranoia, and keeps information like that close to the vest, either all in his head or in a safe in his room or his office, both of which are always locked up like Fort Knox. It'd been a longshot the Tavern would have his shit, but hey a guy can dream."

"You have a working relationship with him," Bruce points out, "could you find a reason to get into his Penthouse and find the safe?"

Jason snorts. "B, even when I worked _for_ him, I wasn't allowed anywhere near his bedroom, and the few times I was in his office, I wasn't alone. Mask guards his shit to a ridiculous degree, and if I wasn't currently trying to break in, I'd call that much paranoia unwarranted."

He sighs. "I'll figure something out, it'll just take me a sec. As long as I manage within a few weeks it'll be fine; intel says that's when the current group of poor SOBs that've been grabbed are being sent out of the state, and it's always so much harder to track human trafficking victims after they've been moved."

Dick speaks so quietly that Jason almost doesn't hear him when he says, "I could get in."

Jason blinks at him, and thinks he should be offended that Dick apparently thinks he can easily accomplish something Jason can't. "Uh, Dick, no offense—"

But Bruce is ahead of him, apparently understanding what Dick _really_ means. "No."

Dick purses his lips, displeased at being shut down from the get go, and he squares his shoulders, prepared for a fight. "People's lives are depending on this information, innocent people. Jason doesn't know if he can get in, and I don't think we should take that risk. There's a deadline, and no substantial plan. I can easily get in close, and I'm not someone he's be suspicious of and think he had to watch."

That's when it clicks for Jason, the denial slipping away. "You're _kidding,_ right?" he asks incredulously. "You're not seriously suggesting going home with _Black Mask_ to get this info, are you?"

Dick clenches his jaw. He won't quite look either of them in the eye, and the line of his shoulders is tense. He doesn't look like he wants to be suggesting this any more than they want to hear the suggestion, but there's a steadiness to his stance that tells Jason all he needs to know about his brother's conviction.

"He wouldn't be suspicious, and he'd let me close. He'd leave me alone for long enough to search. And..." He hesitates, jaw working, like he's debating adding something. Then he pushes a sharp breath out of his nose and lifts his chin with (false) bravado. "And I already know the layout of his bedroom and office, which will make the search for a safe faster and thus less dangerous."

Jason tries to understand how that could possibly make sense. Dick's never had any major dealings with Black Mask, far as Jason's aware. Certainly not enough to somehow have an intimate knowledge of his penthouse. And yet Dick sounds completely sure of himself, not faking having this knowledge.

But, no. No way. Dick can't have that knowledge. Because that would mean...

"Explain," Bruce says, and that's _Batman's_ voice, a direct order, and not a happy one.

Dick pulls in and lets out a calming breath. He relaxes his posture and then—gaze staring past them, into the emptiness of the cave—says, "A few years ago, he and I slept together. I was in a very bad place, and drunk, and it was a mistake. But he left it open at the end if I was ever interested in doing it again, and tonight made it clear he still feels that way."

Jason wants to hit him.

"How could you?" he seethes. Green tinges the edges of his vision. _"How could you?!_ Black Mask is a despicable human being, a literal dirt bag piece of trash, worst of the worst! Fuck, he even sells _people,_ Dick! How the hell could you do something as horrifying as fuck the man?!"

He's yelling, but he can't bring himself to care. Dick's gaze lowers to his feet, and he takes the verbal lashing without complaint, jaw clenched.

"It was a really bad time in my life," he repeats quietly. "I did something extremely stupid. I'm sorry for what I did, for falling into bed with someone as awful as him. I can't take it back, I know. I've always just wanted to move past it. And right now that mistake could help us save a lot of people. So let me do this. I'll get the information you need."

Jason sneers. "Do whatever the fuck you want, clearly you do that anyway."

Dick flinches. He doesn't lift his eyes from the floor. In this moment, Jason can't bring himself to care, so he turns for the exit.

"Let me know when you've gotten the info from your fuckbuddy," he tosses over his shoulder. He knows he's being cruel right now, rubbing salt into something Dick's clearly sorry for, but he's angry and incredulous and picturing all the broken people he's met, all the people Black Mask has been responsible for breaking. He can't find it in himself to be kind to Dick about his idiotic one-night-stand.

He gets in his car and speeds out of the cave, determined to go find someone to hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up tomorrow, my dudes ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay soooooooo this fic _was_ gonna be two chapters but in my defense...okay I have no defense. This chapter was just getting _super_ long because I have no self control, so I decided to split it up instead! That's why this chapter's a little shorter than normal (but still long, so enjoy!)
> 
> Chapter 3 is mostly finished, just needs a last run through, so that'll be up tomorrow <3 Love keeping you guys in suspense ;)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

_I'm disappointed in you._

The words chase Dick into his dreams, the only thing Bruce said after Jason left before turning back to the computer and ignoring Dick's presence. The cold way he said them, the hard look in his eyes, the dismissive way he simply turned away and went back to work, like Dick wasn't worth his time.

Dick tosses and turns, restless. The little sleep he does get is filled with dreams, _nightmares,_ Bruce's face with Roman's actions, Jason watching in the background with disgust written clearly across his face. It's not the first time he's had dreams like this, the things Bruce has done melding with what Roman has, but this is the first time it's felt so _real,_ everything backed up by the sneer on Jason's face as they stood in the batcave, the disappointment in every line of Bruce's body.

_I'm disappointed in you._

He should be, he's right to be. Dick knows that. He was such a stupid kid, falling for Roman's bullshit. He's clearly _still_ a stupid kid, for the way he acted in the bathroom. Roman had just felt so larger than life, so sure of himself, so in command. Dick's proud of himself for his small acts of rebellion during it, but he still allowed Roman to hold him there, still allowed him to undo his belt and put his hand down his pants.

Dick glances over at the clock when the sun starts to rise and then gets up with a sigh. He got maybe two hours sleep total, which isn't too bad. He's been functional on less before.

He needs to think up a plan, a plausible reason he'd go to Roman. Roman wouldn't believe him if he simply showed up saying _You're right, I need you,_ not after he ran away twice. That would be extremely suspicious, and the point of this was that Roman _wouldn't_ be suspicious of him, wouldn't see him as a threat.

He could fake some kind of fight with Bruce? Leave a couple clues for Roman to follow so he can find Dick and take him home like he has twice before. But Dick remembers how shaken he was by his _real_ fights with Bruce, and isn't sure if he could fake that level of despair for a prolonged period of time. Then again, being in close quarters with Roman would certainly produce enough anxiety all on its own that he might not have to try too hard.

He could...well, he could get someone to slip to Roman where Dick spends his Saturday nights, the place Dick hasn't told _anyone_ in his personal life about. If Roman knew about it, the man would feel justified in what he said.

_You know what you need, sweetheart. I've shown you._

He did. He showed Dick seven years ago, and Dick will always hate him for it, will always resent having his eyes opened. But there are places, _safe_ places. Places that don't involve putting yourself at the mercy of a psychotic mobster. Dick's been going to one for just about three years now. And maybe if Roman were to find out...

Dick sighs again, pushing the thoughts from his brain. No matter what he chooses to go with, he'll still second-guess himself, so he might as well just choose and commit, and let the chips fall as they may.

Bruce isn't at the breakfast table when Dick gets downstairs, for which he is grateful. Tim's there, frowning down at the tablet in his hand, large bags under his eyes. After this clusterfuck with Roman blows over, Dick will have to talk to Bruce about giving Tim some slack; just because the teen _can_ handle all of the copious amounts of shit Bruce puts on his shoulders, doesn't mean he should _have_ to.

Tim's only nineteen, for fuck's sake, he should have time to go hang out with friends, maybe take a trip to the beach, not spend every waking hour either as Red Robin with the Titans or Tim Wayne at WE. He deserves time to just breathe.

Dick very firmly decides to ignore what _he_ was handling at nineteen.

His brother acknowledges his presence with a small wave, not raising his head from the tablet. Dick wants to interrupt him, wants to have someone engage him in conversation so he doesn't have to focus on purposefully gaining Roman Sionis' attention.

The thought makes him sick.

But he's never been one to shove his problems off on other people, so he stays silent, accepting a cup of tea from Alfred with a smile before going to get dressed. He wasn't lying when he told Roman he had work today, and spending the night at the Manor means he has to drive back to Bludhaven before his first lesson at ten.

Dick likes being a gymnastics instructor. On some level he definitely misses being a cop—helping people in both aspects of his life was greatly satisfying—but after Jason's death, after the second time he stayed with Roman, he couldn't be a police officer anymore. He continued carrying his badge for another eight months before he'd been able to bring himself to resign, and he's worked as a gymnastics teacher ever since.

It allows him to do what he loves and share that with others, and it's extremely rewarding. Every time a kid lands a flip for the first time and turns to him, beaming with pride, he can't help but wonder if this is how his parents felt while training him, watching him grow and improve, always filled with so much _joy_ when in the air.

He's got a handful of students he thinks could really be something, if that's the route they want to take. He teaches multiple classes, ranging from five-year-olds to late teens, and Saturdays keep him busy with two group classes and then two individual lessons.

It's good, keeps him busy, helps him keep his mind off the whole mess with Roman. Being in the air is always relaxing, and he allows himself to get lost in it, the tension flooding out of his body, mind clear.

But it can't last forever, and by the time five rolls around and his last lesson of the day ends, he can't avoid the subject any longer. Especially not when considering his weekly Saturday night plans.

He doesn't have time to leak it to the right person and wait for Roman to come across the information; it would add an entire week before going undercover, and that's a delay Dick isn't willing to risk.

So, instead, he sends an anonymous tip to one of the trashy news websites that loves to post rumors about the rich and famous as if they're fact. He says that he "overheard" a tense conversation between Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson where Bruce told Dick to "stay out of family business" because he's not really family.

Writing that hurts, because it hits far too close to his own insecurities about the fact that he was never adopted while everyone else was, but it's the kind of thing the trash website would love to report, and the kind of thing that Roman would take note of.

Of course, that also means that Dick has to prepare himself for Roman using it against him, which is...challenging. Roman's always been good at hitting his weak spots with deadly precision and making Dick doubt his relationships with everyone.

Leaving when he was seventeen was one of the hardest things Dick's ever had to do. And leaving when he was nineteen—

Well, he does his best to avoid thinking about how _that_ turned out.

By the time Dick gets home from the gymnasium, the trash blog has already published an article about the "fight" between Bruce and Dick, filled with salacious rumors and exaggerated facts. It pretty accurately hits Dick's insecurities, which he supposes is exactly what he was asking for. It's painful, but it's also exactly what he's after.

He takes a quick shower, gets dressed, and heads back to Gotham. He's already sent a message to a friend saying he won't be attending their plans tonight, and receives a sympathetic message that apparently shows how fast trash "news" really _does_ spread.

He debates where he wants to go, and then chooses an upper-class lounge to go sit and get a drink, in a place that could be interpreted as just wanting to be left alone as he handles his "dirty laundry" being aired to the world.

Of course, someone is sure to report his location, and then it's up in the air out how long it'll take for Roman to arrive, or even _if_ he will. There's always the possibility that the mobster has something going on and won't see the report for hours, and that's even counting on Roman paying any type of attention to news channels or websites that would report this kind of thing.

He settles in to wait.

He doesn't have to wait long, and it would make him laugh if the whole situation wasn't so incredibly fucked up.

"Well _this_ hit the fan for you, didn't it, sweetheart?" Roman says in greeting as he sits down across from Dick. Dick's been hyperaware of his surroundings since he got here, so he heard the man approaching long before he got to his table, but he startles like he hasn't, gaze flicking up from the table to look at Roman with surprise and panic. The panic really isn't hard to fake.

They're getting some lingering looks, and Dick's already regretting his decision to go to a place that would know him and report on him, because now him leaving with _Black Mask_ is going to be all over the news. He'll never be able to escape it.

"Why are you here, Roman?" Dick asks on a sigh, tilting his head back against the booth tiredly, like he simply doesn't have the energy to be anxious right now.

Roman cocks an eyebrow at him. "That's a stupid question and you know it, Richard."

Dick scowls. "Alright, then I suppose I'll ask a _better_ one. Why don't you leave me alone?"

Roman watches him levelly, and Dick's heart pounds in his chest. "You've had a bit of a trying day," Roman says, and Dick's shoulders tense at the fake offhand tone, "so I'm going to let the rudeness slide for now. But my patience will not last forever."

Dick makes himself deflate, forces himself to not run, not escape. He lowers his head, rubs a hand across his face, and curses quietly under his breath, loud enough for Roman to hear him.

"I'm sorry," Dick says on a sigh, like he'd too tired to argue, to fight. "It's...been a long day, and now blasted on the internet."

Roman hums. Dick can feel him watching him. "Seems like you could use a bit of relaxation, sweetheart."

Dick gives a huff of laughter and looks up at the other man with a wry smile. "Gee, I can't _possibly_ guess what you have in mind."

Roman smirks at him and then stands up, moving around the table to stand next to Dick, towering over him. The familiar position makes Dick swallow; Roman always liked this, standing while he's sitting, emphasizing their height different, making Dick feel small as he has to crane his neck to look the other man in the eye. And it _works,_ always has, especially when Roman raises his hand and cups the back of his neck, massaging soothing circles into his skin.

Dick releases a breath and lets his eyes drift shut, head tilting forward to give Roman more access. It feels good, of course it does, even more so when Roman murmurs, "There you go, Richard, just relax. I've got you."

He can't believe he suggested this course of action. He can't believe he's willingly putting himself back in Roman's hands, with a clear head and rational thought. Because all of that is going to go out the window. He's going to get on his knees or bend over or whatever the hell Roman wants him to do, and Roman's going to say all the right things and do everything just right, and then Dick's going to have straighten himself out again and search for the safe, and then drag himself away from Roman _again._

He doesn't know why he thought he was strong enough to do this. He's not. He's _really_ not.

"You know what you need, baby," Roman says, voice soft and gentle and smooth. The words echo in Dick's skull, enticing him to give in.

And the worst part is he _has_ to give in in this situation. Well, he has to _pretend_ to give in. Which is...

Dick would rather not live in denial, so he's just going to ignore that distinction.

"Please," Dick whispers, and he hears Roman chuckle above him, hand squeezing on the back of his neck momentarily before drawing away.

"Put your coat on, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

Dick gets to his feet, pulling his jacket back on, and watches with furrowed brows as Roman approaches the bartender and starts a conversation with him. The bartender's polite smile tightens in reaction to whatever Roman's saying, and he nods quickly, mouth forming assurances and agreements.

Conversation apparently done, Roman heads back towards Dick and puts his hand in the small of his back, pushing him towards the door, the guard that had been standing nearby following behind them.

Dick allows himself to be led, glancing up at the other man with a frown. "What was that about?"

"Ensuring his discretion," Roman tells him, and then, feeling that Dick's still staring, raises an eyebrow. "I simply made him aware of the _importance_ of keeping this little situation to himself; wouldn't want the world knowing who took Richard Grayson home just yet, hm?"

Dick ducks his head against the smile that wants to spread across his face, reminding himself that the fondness in Roman's voice isn't _real,_ or if it is, is the kind of fondness one holds for their pet, not an equal.

He almost laughs; god, the idea that he and Roman are in any way _equals_ in this arrangement is ridiculous.

They reach Roman's car without incident and Dick ducks inside, sighing slightly at the comfortable leather. There are many horrible things about Roman, but at least the man has good tastes.

Roman doesn't say anything during the car ride, in fact he doesn't even look at Dick or touch him, attention focused on his phone. Dick lets out a breath and lets himself relax for a few moments, knowing that as soon as they reach the penthouse he certainly won't be left to his own devices for a while.

But they're...not driving in the right direction. Dick knows exactly where Roman lives, has the location memorized so that he never ends up anywhere near there by accident, and they aren't approaching the high-rise. In fact, when the car starts to slow and pull over, they're on the other side of the city, in front of a repurposed warehouse, converted into something of a working base. One of _Black Mask's_ bases.

But this isn't where Dick's supposed to be.

"Roman?" he says hesitantly, and the other man hums his acknowledgement before looking up and sliding his phone into his pocket.

"Yes?"

"...Where are we?"

The driver opens the backdoor and Roman gets out, gesturing for Dick to follow him, so he does, and then allows the hand to place itself once again in the small of his back, escorting towards the warehouse.

"Well I had some business I needed to take care of tonight, sweetheart," Roman tells him, and then nods to the man standing by the warehouse door who opens it for them. "But I didn't want to risk missing you, so you're just going to have to wait a minute while Daddy finishes his work."

Dick's skin crawls at the idea of being present during Roman's _work,_ but he bites his tongue. Maybe he'll overhear something useful. Or even if he doesn't, it's not worth the argument—right now he has to make Roman feel as in control as possible, and arguing won't help that, especially not when he knows Roman would ignore his request anyway.

Though the outside of the building looks like every other broken down warehouse in Gotham, the inside has been refurbished, looking like an actual building rather than somewhere to store product. Roman leads him down a nondescript hall and then through an open space, where there are people milling about. Dick can feel them give him curious looks, but he keeps his gaze forward, walking alongside Roman.

Then head up a flight of stairs, down another hall, and into an office. It's nice, with dark wood paneling and expensive furniture, reminding Dick of Roman's office back at the penthouse. But Dick can see what it used to be underneath it all, can see how all the niceness has been layered over the cheap overseer's office this used to be.

There are a few people waiting inside, all looking irritated at having been kept waiting, and Dick's eyes flick over them automatically to check for weapons. He scans one after the other and—

Dick barely keeps himself from choking on his own spit when he sees who the last man in the room, the red helmet and bat on the chest a dead giveaway. Dick's eyes go wide, his breath catching, for a single moment, and then he schools his expression into blank indifference and goes to sit in the chair Roman nudges him towards, not the one behind the desk but close by.

"Gentlemen," Roman says, shrugging off his coat and standing behind the desk chair, "apologies for keeping you waiting. Had to run an errand."

Four gazes slide over to Dick, clearly understanding he's part of this _errand,_ and then back to Roman. But Jason's helmet lingers just a second longer, and Dick's heart slams in his chest. He hadn't prepared for the possibility of seeing his brother, of his brother seeing _him_ with Roman. He just wants to go to the penthouse, get all of this shit over with.

"There a reason you brought your _errand_ to a business meeting, Sionis?" one of the men grunts, displeased. Dick recognizes him vaguely, someone associated with one of the crime families, not high up enough to have his name memorized. Maybe that's a mistake, considering he's here meeting with _Black Mask._ The other men are the same. "Bit of a security risk, don't you think?"

Roman snorts and leans back against the wall, crossing his ankles. He looks perfectly in control, looks _powerful,_ and it makes Dick swallow.

"Don't worry, Richard's very good at keeping secrets," Roman says, and there's a level of innuendo there that has Dick's cheeks turning pink.

The man sneers. "Just because he doesn't go around telling people the length of your—"

"Can we get to the point?" Jason interrupts, a disinterested sigh falling from his lips. He's lounging against the wall by the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, the perfect picture of boredom. It's only because Dick knows him so well that he can see the tension in the lines of his body. "Who gives a shit if Mask has his toy present? Probably better at keeping shit to himself than _you_ are, Minelli."

The man rounds on Jason with a snarl, raising to his full height in an attempt to make himself look imposing. Jason doesn't react at all, unimpressed.

"That was _one fucking time—"_

"Boys," Roman snaps, his tone sharp enough that is has Dick's spine straightening automatically, hands clenching against his thighs. "You can compare dicks later. I have a _job_ for you, in case you forgot."

The man Jason called Minelli doesn't move for a moment, face still twisted up in a sneer, but he grudgingly settles, turning his attention back to Roman.

Roman waits until he's sure the men are focused on him, ready, and then he very pointedly turns away, walking towards Dick. Dick's eyes widen in surprise, and he can hear a couple of the men make comments that are none too complementary about Roman.

"Put these in, Richard," Roman tells him quietly, reaching his hand out, and Dick notices with some surprise that there's a pair of earplugs cupped in his palm. Dick blinks and looks up at Roman. "Not that I don't trust you, baby, but you understand. Don't you?"

Dick just nods, not trusting his voice at the moment with all the attention currently on him, and takes the earplugs, twisting them and then putting them in his ears. Roman says something to him, and Dick frowns because he doesn't understand, but that simply makes Roman smile, and then the mobster turns back to the men.

Dick accepts the fact that he's been effectively removed from the situation and settles back to wait, trying to take as much in as he can without being able to hear a single thing. He watches the conversation, the way the men move around each other, clearly seeing that none of them like each other, but if he's curious he can ask Jason for details later.

If Jason's talking to him by then, of course.

Eventually the men start to leave, Jason pulling up the rear. But right before Jason goes out the door he halts, looking back to Roman with a cocked head. Roman says something else and Jason shuts the door, resuming his place leaned against the wall, watching as Roman turns to Dick.

With a gesture from the mobster, Dick pulls out the earplugs, his gaze flicking warily to Jason and then back to Roman. His pulse is picking up, panicked at the thought that Roman knows, he knows who Dick is, his connection to Red Hood, that they're working together—

But Roman tosses a manila envelope to Jason, who catches it deftly from the air, glancing at it for a moment before raising his head, question clear.

"I want you to watch over that for me," Roman says easily.

Jason snorts. "I don't actually work for you anymore, Mask," he points out, tone derisive. "You hired me for _one_ job, not to be your little lacky."

Roman's unbothered by the attitude, used to dealing with Jason's snark. "And I'll pay you handsomely for this, too," he says.

A moment's pause as Jason considers. "I guess," he says grudgingly. "The fuck are you giving it to me for, though? Don't you have people for this kind of thing? What even is it?"

Roman smiles like that's the question he wanted Jason to ask, which makes uneasiness settle tightly in Dick's gut. "Insurance. There's something I think is going to happen again, and I'd really rather it didn't, so if it does I want what's in that envelope released to the media." He tilts his head to look at Dick. "An argument against running away, hmm?"

It takes Dick a moment to truly understand what Roman's saying to him, to move past denial and accept what the man's doing, and then he can't _breathe_ for a moment, eyes darting over to the envelope Jason's holding.

His brother. His brother has it, has _them—_

Dick slowly pushes himself to his feet, head buzzing. Panic is taking hold of him, nothing else mattering in this moment. He can't even—he—Roman—how—

"You can't be serious," he breathes. His body's tingling, adrenaline flooding his veins. He's still staring at the envelope in Jason's hand, but he drags his eyes up and towards Roman. "You—you would—you'd—?"

Roman smirks at him. "Sweetheart," he says condescendingly. "You didn't honestly think I wouldn't have a _plan_ third time around, did you? I was too lenient with you before, that's obvious now. I won't make that mistake again. This is incentive to behave."

Dick knows his eyes are wide as saucers, knows that his breathing's a little too fast, knows that Jason's watching him and is probably very confused, but all Dick can picture is what would happen if the media got ahold of everything in that envelope.

His eyes dart to it again. "Are those your only copies?" he asks, and his voice is strangled. If all the evidence is in that envelope then it's fine, Jason can burn it all and everything would be okay, Roman doesn't know he's passing it off to an ally right now.

But Roman _laughs_ at him. "Not even close." He pushes off the wall, walking towards Dick, and grips his chin tightly in his hand, tilting his head up and forcing him to meet his eyes. Dick's frozen in place. He can barely think, barely _breathe._ The idea of them getting out—people seeing them—fuck, _Damian_ seeing them—

"Just so we understand each other," Roman murmurs. He tilts his head. _"Do_ we understand each other, Richard?"

Dick knows what the other man wants him to say here. The thought of saying it in front of Jason _burns,_ but the mortification of it is _nothing_ compared to what he'll feel if that envelope gets out, so he swallows his pride and pushes past his pounding fear to whisper, "Yes, Daddy."

* * *

Jason's glad that Black Mask doesn't look at him as he barks out a dismissal, because surely he'd take note of Jason fumbling for the door handle, of the envelope almost slipping out of his hand, of the way he almost stumbles over his own feet in his haste to get out of there.

It's not until half an hour has passed and he's pacing in one of his safehouses that the buzzing in his head dies down enough for him to incredulously announce, "What the fuck?"

Even looking past what Dick called Roman—because no, _no,_ Jason isn't touching that with a ten foot pole yet, no sir—everything about what just happened is fucked up. Clearly Jason was being used as a pawn in whatever fucked up blackmail Roman has going on, but _why,_ and he said _third time,_ and called it _running away._ None of these are things you do about a one-night-stand.

Which means this wasn't a one-night-stand.

And the...the _fear_ on Dick's face...

When the pair had entered the office, Jason had felt his anger from the night before come flooding back. Watching Dick in Black Mask's space, the mobster's hand on his brother's back—it made his insides curl, made him resentful all over again. Even the fact that Dick was clearly uncomfortable meant nothing to him, if anything it served him right, and Jason did his best to avoid looking at the other man through the meeting.

But. _But._ But then it was just the three of them, and Roman was—was _blackmailing_ Dick into...staying? Christ, he was. He was making Dick afraid to leave. Because of something he had over him. Something that had to be extremely awful, considering how Dick had been heading towards a panic attack.

Jason's gaze drifts towards his coffee table, where the manila envelope sits, having been tossed there after Jason entered, twitchy and riled up.

Dick clearly doesn't want anyone to see whatever's in this folder. Had called Black Mask— _that_ —in order to get the mobster to back down a little. He wouldn't like Jason looking at it, not at all.

This entire situation is so fucked up, and Jason has so many questions and not nearly enough answers. So he walks towards the coffee table, and sits down on the couch, and stares at the envelope for a solid minute before he snatches it up and looks at what's inside.

Photographs.

Photographs of...

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh _no._

Mouth dry, Jason flicks through the glossy photos inside the envelope, tossing each one down onto the table. Photo after photo, each one more degrading than the last, all staring Dick Grayson.

"Shit," Jason curses. _"Shit._ No, fuck. _Fuck."_

And he looks...young. Dick's grown a lot since Jason was Robin, and the Dick in these pictures—well, they look how Jason remembers Dick back then. This doesn't look like a twenty-three-year-old Dick like his brother implied when he said he and Black Mask slept together _a few years ago._ And there's...so many of them, Dick wearing various bruises and marks on his skin, clearly not all taken in one night.

"Oh, Dickie, no," Jason whispers, unable to raise his vice any longer.

He stares at the last photo for a long time, trying to decide if he's fighting back a sob or a scream. Dick's kneeling in the picture, head tilted up slightly towards the camera. He's bare-chested, and it look like his wrists are tangled in his shirt behind him. His face is red and puffy, dried tear tracks down his cheeks, eyes glazed over, jaw hanging open. There are drops of cum on his swollen lips.

And the _bruise._

Jason's seen Dick beaten up plenty of times in the past; it comes with the territory. Hell, they've certainly knocked each other around once or twice. But this is... _wow._ It's _big,_ streaking from the corner of his left eye and all the way down to his chin, a disturbing mess of purple and blue and red. It's the kind of intense bruise that is usually accompanied by a dislocated or broken jaw. It completely overshadows the collar around Dick's neck.

Green tinges the edges of his vision. He's such an idiot. A naïve _idiot,_ too eager to believe Dick did something bad, too amped up to consider what the fuck actually made sense. A truly spectacular _idiot,_ for thinking for a single moment that Dick would _ever_ tell the truth when it comes to something like this.

_A few years ago, he and I slept together. I was in a very bad place, and drunk, and it was a mistake._

Wow, Dick's brain is so fucked up if he thinks what's depicted in these photos in any way as simple as _sleeping together._ There're a couple photos of Dick tied face-down to a bed, back bright red and _bloody,_ probably from the cane sitting off to the side, a blindfold around his eyes, and that same damned collar around his neck. This isn't just _sleeping together,_ a one-time _fuck._

It's...these aren't pretty.

Dick would really hate the fact that Jason's seen these pictures. He's emotional in a lot of them, blissed-out or crying or—on two very memorable occasions that Jason will never get out of him mind—screaming. Dick would _hate_ that anyone has seen him like this.

Dick, who he just left alone with Black Mask. Dick, with the terrified look in his eyes and stupid self-sacrificing plan to get them the information they need.

Jason gets to his feet, checks over his weapons, grabs his helmet, and is out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter out tomorrow!
> 
> If you feel like yelling at me, you can find me [on tumblr](https://boyblunder-thedarkheir.tumblr.com/) and [on twitter](https://twitter.com/writertilldeath) 😁


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys heard the song _Gravity_ by Sara Bareilles? It came up on my spotify while I was writing this and it pulled me up short, the entire song fits Dick in this series so fucking well, you all should absolutely look it up.
> 
> Some of the lyrics: _You loved me 'cause I'm fragile / When I thought that I was strong. / But you touch me for a little while / And all my fragile strength is gone._

The first twenty minutes pass like a blur for Dick, like he's not actually in his body, like there's a glass wall between him and the rest of the world, and he just watches himself react to Roman, can only be a passive player as his body does what the man wants.

He knows Jason leaves, knows Roman doesn't stop touching him as he leads him outside and into the car, knows Roman pulls Dick's jacket off, and Dick lets him. He knows they arrive at the penthouse, and Roman's guards are dismissed as Roman leads him to his bedroom.

He knows Roman says, "Strip, sweetheart," and he knows he follows the order, but it's all so...far away.

He comes back to his body with the slap.

Dick sucks in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly against the pain, cheek growing warm as blood flows to the injured area. His eyes focus on Roman, the man standing in front of him and watching him closely, eyes dark with hunger.

 _"There_ you are," Roman purrs. "Seemed to be slipping away from me, baby. Do you dissociate often?"

"I—no," Dick answers honestly. He has a few times, knows it's a side effect of the (copious) trauma he's been through in the past, knows it's a bit of a defense mechanism, and really not a good one. He looks around, the sudden shift in locations jarring. "How long...?"

"Not very," Roman assures him, and Dick jumps as a gloved hand strokes down his chest, tracing various scars. "You know," Roman says conversationally, "I think that _this_ time, I'm going to require some straight answers about what all this shit is, Richard." Dick's heart seizes. "Not right now, of course," Roman amends. "We've got better things to do right now. But...yes, I'm done accepting your bullshit answers."

Roman's hand drops away, and Dick shivers at the cold of the room, wrapping his arms around himself, watching as Roman walks over to his closet.

"You know where it is, sweetheart," Roman says, offhand, not even looking at him as he rummages through his closet for something. "It hasn't moved from the last time you were here—put it on."

Dick's throat clogs, his eyes straying to the bedside table on the right, the one with the bottom drawer that requires a passcode to get into. He doesn't move for a moment, just staring, and then he forces himself into motion, walking over and crouching down to reach the drawer. He wishes he could be absent again, could separate himself from all of this. He's still stuck on the photos in Jason's possession. The photos that Roman apparently has multiple copies of.

He pushes in the passcode and the drawer slides open for him, making Dick swallow as the contents are revealed.

Roman keeps a majority of his stuff behind a panel in his closet, but there are a few items he always had in the bedside table for easy access. Dick's very familiar with it all, especially with the black collar sitting off to the side.

He picks it up, letting out a slow breath, and rubs his thumb over the smooth leather. He hates the mixed feelings in his head; part of him feels settled by the idea of putting this on, putting it on and just letting go, letting Roman use him and take care of him and tell him he's good and let him fall.

And then the rational thought, that reminds him how unhealthy this all is. That this isn't the right way to do this. That Roman doesn't actually give a shit about him, just wants to _own_ him. All of his praise and caring actions are manipulations, playing to Dick's weak spots. Roman gets off on the power of breaking someone down.

Dick knows all of this. It's taken him a while, but he knows.

He puts the collar on anyway.

Because this time, he's not here for himself. He didn't come here broken into pieces, needing Roman to put him back together. He might not be whole, he might still be struggling—might _always_ struggle, after what he's done with Roman—but he has a purpose this time, a mission. What happens to him doesn't matter compared to the mission.

When he turns around and glances up, he sees Roman watching him, eyes heavy-lidded. He's taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, a very familiar state of dress—Roman has never gotten completely naked with Dick. Probably likes the implied power difference, he figures. Dick completely naked, the mobster still so put together.

"Look at you," Roman murmurs appreciatively, and Dick lets out a shuddering breath. "Hands behind your back, sweetheart."

Dick follows the instruction, and then holds still as Roman moves around behind him, crouching to reach his wrists and then binding them together. The nylon rope is a familiar texture, and his pulse begins to speed up as Roman expertly binds him, restricting Dick's movement.

He tests it automatically as soon as the mobster is done, habit from all the times he's been tied up—both as a civilian and as a hero—but it holds easily, keeping him in place. This isn't the kind of tie that he can dislocate his thumb or twist his arms to get out of. No, his wrists are staying together until someone decides to let him out.

Dick breathes out the small panic his vigilante side feels at that, and breathes in the calm mindset that comes from giving up control in this way. He forces himself to relax, to forgot about the photos and the trafficking victims and what his brother must be thinking about that little display earlier. None of that is relevant right now, not until this is over and he can search for the safe.

Roman moves back around him, carding his fingers soothingly through Dick's hair as he goes, and then says, "On the bed, sweetheart."

Dick does as he's told, rising to his feet and then moving onto the bed. He kneels in the middle and then looks to Roman for the next step, who smiles at him, pleased.

"Such a good boy," he purrs, stepping forward. He puts a finger beneath Dick's chin and lifts his head up, gaze going to the collar. He hums, running a thumb over it much like Dick had, and then lets go, dropping his hand. "Face the headboard, head down," he orders.

Dick swallows and shuffles around on his knees, facing the wall, and then—cheeks burning—lowers himself to the bed, spreading his knees to adjust for the new weight distribution, arching his back a little to put more pressure on his shoulders than on his face, and then turns his head to the side, resting his cheek against the comforter.

Nothing happens for a few moments, and his face gets even hotter with embarrassment, the idea that Roman is just standing behind him, watching him present for him like a dog.

Then Roman's hand is on his ass, the leather of his glove cool against Dick's heated skin. He squeezes, humming in pleasure, and then a finger dips into Dick's hole without warning. Dick bites back a hiss of pain, and then bites back a laugh as a _Safe Sex_ spiel starts playing in his brain.

Thankfully, Roman pulls his finger out almost immediately. Dick hears a squirting sound, and when Roman's hand returns to his ass, the gloved finger he pushes inside is covered in lube, sliding in far more easily—and far less painfully—than the dry one from before.

Roman pumps his finger in and out, and Dick makes himself relax, breathing out the tension in his shoulders, and then keeps breathing when the next finger goes in beside the first, Roman starting to scissor him open. When the third finger goes in, Roman curls them, searching, and Dick groans when he finds his prostate. He hears Roman chuckle above him, and then drag his fingers more purposefully over the area, drawing another moan out of Dick, his knees spreading a little wider.

"There you go," Roman coos, and inserts his fourth finger. "Just like that, baby."

Dick lets himself get lost in the sensation, rocking his hips back onto the fingers, keening when Roman tells him how gorgeous he looks like this.

Soon Roman pulls his fingers out, and Dick feels the man wipe the lube off his glove on Dick's back before there's the sound of a belt being undone, a zipper going down, and then Roman's pressing his cock into Dick, slow but purposeful, pushing in as far as he can go. Dick lets out an inarticulate sound, panting, and that's the only moment's pause he gets before Roman starts moving, fucking in and out of Dick far faster than he originally pushed in.

Dick spreads his knees a little wider, arching his back a little further, and lets Roman use him, soaking in the praise that falls from Roman's lips. His cock aches between his legs and his hands twist in their binds, desperate to touch—whether himself or Roman doesn't matter, just more skin contact, just _more._

"Please," he pants, tongue hanging out of his mouth. "I—Roman— _please—"_

Roman chuckles, a bit breathless, his hands tightening on Dick's hips. Dick knows from experience that he's gripping tight enough to leave bruises. "What do you want, baby? You know how to ask for it."

"Please," he repeats, moaning as Roman hits his prostate on his next thrust. "Touch me— _Daddy—"_

Roman growls, and one of his hands leaves Dick's hip, reaching up and grabbing a handful of Dick's hair, yanking him upright. It hurts, scalp complaining, and the new position pushes Roman deeper inside of him as he layers Dick against his front.

"Such a needy little thing you are," Roman says in his ear, an amused undercurrent in his voice, and then the hand releases his hair and wraps around his throat instead, restricting airflow. Dick gasps for air, head tilting back against Roman's shoulder, and he spasms, an automatic response to not being able to breathe. His eyes prick with tears.

But Roman just laughs at him, tightening his grip, the collar digging into his skin. Dick's vision begins to darken, his body going limp against Roman's, and then Roman releases his grip, allowing Dick to suck in a deep breath, desperately pulling air into his lungs.

Roman doesn't give him long to adjust, shoving his fingers into Dick's mouth. The taste of leather and lube bursts over his tongue, and Dick gags for a moment as the fingers push against the back of his throat before withdrawing just a little.

"Suck, baby," Roman instructs him, and Dick does as he's told, running his tongue over the fingers, closing his mouth around them to suck. It makes breathing harder, his nostrils flaring as he tries to get enough air into his lungs, but he can feel Roman's small groan of pleasure in his chest, so he keeps it up, working to please the man behind him.

"So good for me," Roman breathes in his ear, and his thrusts begin to pick up as he gets close to finishing.

That's when the bedroom door bursts open.

* * *

Jason makes it back to the warehouse in record time, breaking more than a few laws to get there—add it to his list of crimes.

Black Mask's men are confused to see him back, and that confusion turns to anger and surprise when Jason punches the first one to approach him in the face. He's got a lot of rage and fire pounding through him at the moment, and a one-against-eight fight sounds like a _perfect_ way to dispel it.

The fight doesn't take overly long—the False Facers aren't known for their hand-to-hand combat skills—and then Jason's running towards the office where he left Dick, taking the stairs three at a time and then crashing into the room, drawing a gun as he does so.

But it's—empty.

"Fuck!" Jason shouts, and kicks a chair over. Of fucking _course_ they moved, probably back to Roman's penthouse. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

He heads right back out of the warehouse, punching the one lackey in the face who'd managed to get himself upright, and then gets right back on his motorcycle, taking off towards Roman's main place of residence.

He's about halfway there when his comm line opens itself, Oracle easily overriding his Do Not Disturb setting.

_"Red Hood, if you're available, there's an—"_

"Not available!" Jason snarls. Normally, Babs is the one of the batclan Jason is the most respectful towards, because not only is she an awesome person but she could also destroy his entire life if she wanted to, but right now he doesn't possess the capability to be polite.

There's the smallest moment's pause, and then Oracle's firm voice says, _"Do you need reinforcements for whatever it is that you've gotten yourself into? Robin and Batgirl are close to your location, able to provide back-up."_

The idea of Damian and Cass seeing Dick with Black Mask makes Jason want to vomit—and he _knows_ Dick would hate absolutely nothing more than his Robin seeing him like that—so Jason works to keep his tone calm when he replies, "No, that's really not necessary. I need to handle this alone, O."

He can feel Barbara debating doing it anyway, used to them all denying needing help even when they do, but eventually she says, _"Alright, Hood. But radio if it gets out of control."_

"Will do," he says, and then switches his comm back off as Roman's building comes into view.

The building's pretty well guarded, especially the top few floors, which was why Jason knew he wouldn't be able to sneak in to search for a safe in Roman's space without getting caught. However, considering this time he doesn't give a rat's ass about staying hidden, it's far easier to break in.

Anyone who tries to attack him, he takes down. It's a very simple mindset to move into, where all you have to do is defend and attack, just keep moving forward towards your goal. He's sure he's setting off a million alarms, that if Black Mask were paying any attention to his phone he'd know Red Hood is coming for him, but Jason's pretty sure the bastard's preoccupied.

There are no guards inside the penthouse. Jason all but runs in the direction of Roman's bedroom, and knows he's found the right place when the _sounds_ reach him, unmistakable. He doesn't hesitate to _kick,_ the door flying open under the force of it.

Black Mask and Dick are both on the bed, kneeling chest to back. Dick is completely naked save the black collar around his neck, the same one from all the photos, and between their bodies Jason can see the black rope binding his wrists together. His face is flushed red, his eyelashes clumping together with tears, his lips wrapped around the leather-covered fingers Roman's got shoved into his mouth.

Roman, by contrast, is almost completely clothed, even his shoes still on, the only thing out of place his undone belt and rolled up sleeves. He's got a vice grip on Dick's hip, and that hand only tightens when he hears the door crash open, head jerking around to see what happened.

Jason relishes in the surprise on the mobster's face when he sees the Red Hood standing there with his gun drawn. He's less fond of the panic on Dick's face when he sees who it is, too.

Jason aims his gun right at Roman's head, but it's not a clean shot with Dick's head tilted back against the bastard's shoulder. They're too intertwined; Jason can't shoot without risking shooting Dick.

"Let go of him," Jason snarls, walking further into the room. Green tints his vision. _"Now."_

Roman swallows, his eyes flicking up and down Jason's form, trying to analyze the situation. Jason doesn't give a shit about whatever conclusion the man comes to as long as he gets the fuck away from his brother.

"What's this got to do with you, Red?" Roman asks, a little breathless, and easily keeps Dick in place when the younger man twitches like he wants to get away, breathing rapidly through his nose, quick with panic. Jason hates that he's pushed Dick into that, but he can apologize later, once they're away from this psychopath.

"None of your damn business," Jason snaps. "Now _let go."_

Black Mask hums thoughtfully and then pulls his fingers out of Dick's mouth, wrapping that hand tightly around Dick's neck, the hero jerking, desperate for air as it's ripped away. Jason tenses automatically, hands tightening around his handgun.

"This is personal," Roman observes, having easily caught the movement. He sounds incredulous, curious. "Why do you care so much, hmm?" He gives a quick thrust of his hips, making Dick gasp for air he can't get, and Jason snarls. Roman simply smiles in response, condescending and amused. "Damn, Red. What's got you so riled up? You didn't seem so possessive earlier; you want a turn, that it?"

Fuck it; Roman's not armed.

Jason holsters his gun and darts forward, ripping Mask's hand off of Dick's throat. He hears his brother suck in a deep breath, coughing, but doesn't waste time, twisting Roman's arm up behind his back and using the leverage to yank the mobster off the bed and onto the floor on his back.

Jason's on him immediately, bringing his fist down against Roman's face. And when that feels good, he does it again, allowing the green at the edge of his vision to creep forward, anger and rage in the forefront of his mind, satisfaction filling him as he punches the bastard over and over again.

Distantly, he can hear someone yelling. "Red Hood! Hood, _stop!"_ But it doesn't matter, nothing matters except giving Black Mask what he deserves.

"Hood, please! Stop, _stop!"_

The voice is scratchy, cracking in places, coughing a little. He feels the person grab ahold of his arm and he yanks himself out of the weak grip easily, baring his teeth.

"Hood! Jason! _Jay!_ You're going to kill him! Stop!"

His arm is grabbed again, and this time it reaches through the green fog, his real name jarring against the violence in his mind. He turns his head, gaze following the hand on his arm to its source. Dick's kneeling beside him, eyes wide and wild, his knuckles white as he grips desperately at Jason's arm. He's gotten his arms in front of him, but his wrists are still bound together with black nylon rope.

Jason stares at his brother's panicked blue eyes and allows them to center him, to bring him back to the present.

"Jason," Dick says again, no more than a whisper, and Jason nods shakily to show he's with him now.

There's a wet cough from beneath him that morphs into a wet chuckle. "Jason?" He and Dick freeze. "Your name is _Jason?"_

Slowly, Jason looks back down at Black Mask. The mobster looks thoroughly dazed, blood flowing from his broken nose, smile bloody, but he _is_ smiling, and it only grows as both Jason and Dick look at him, eyes drifting over to Dick.

"Either that's the biggest coincidence in the world," Roman says, spitting out some blood. "Or you've been _holding out_ on me, baby."

"Don't talk to him," Jason snarls, fisting at Roman's shirt and shaking him a little. His heart is pounding in his chest, hard enough he can feel it in his ears.

"I get it now," Roman says, sounding far too calm considering the situation, looking back at Jason. "Why you're acting like the world's most puffed up guard dog. You're _that_ Jason, aren't you? Dickie's dead baby brother. Not so dead, hm? How curious." He smirks. "I'd say it was faked, but I was there in the aftermath, and Richard _certainly_ wasn't faking his grief."

That pulls Jason up short, frowning a little. In the aftermath? Dick's _grief?_ What the hell?

"The hell you talking about?" Jason asks gruffly.

"Jay," Dick tries to interrupt, voice strained, but Roman doesn't let him get far.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Roman assures with a quick glance at the still-naked man, "I think your brother deserves to know what you were like after, don't you? I think so."

"Roman—" Dick tries desperately, and Jason really shouldn't let himself get pulled into this, should just punch Black Mask in the face again, but he's—well, he wants to know. He's always avoided talking to Dick about the lack of mourning on his brother's part, how Dick didn't even attend his funeral. He didn't want to hear whatever excuse Dick put forth, so he never mentioned it. But now...

"He was a wreck," Mask tells him casually, eyes dark as he keeps his gaze on Jason. _"God_ was he a wreck, it was beautiful. Could barely pull himself out of a panic attack long enough to form words to tell me what happened. Kept saying it was his fault, that he'd _killed_ his little brother."

Jason jerks back, settling his weight back on his heels, eyes wide. Why the _fuck—_

"And I guess Richard wasn't the only one saying you kicking the bucket was his fault—"

"Roman, _don't—"_

"—because when I picked him up off the street in the middle of the fucking night he had a _masterpiece_ of a bruise on his face, apparently given to him by Brucie Wayne, right before kicking his son out of the house. _Again."_

Jason knows what bruise he has to be talking about. The photograph is burned into his mind for all of eternity. The bruise that meant Dick was hit _hard,_ so goddamn hard. Jason had assumed that happened with Black Mask. Did Bruce really...?

Jason looks at Dick, looking for the argument, the denial that their father didn't really do that to him, didn't _hit_ him like every other piece of shit abuser they've taken down.

But Dick doesn't argue the point. He looks upset, maybe even devastated, and he won't meet Jason's eyes. He makes no excuses. He doesn't rush to defend Bruce's honor like he would if it was slander.

Jesus _Christ,_ Bruce. How dare you.

"It was so _easy,_ Red," Roman says lowly, goading. _"He_ was so easy. Wayne certainly knows how to fuck all of you up, doesn't he? Richard was an open book, practically _begging_ for someone to take advantage. Frankly you should be thankful it was me, _Jason._ There are many who would've done a lot more than just fuck him into his place."

"Would you just shut up?" Dick snaps at the mobster, and then freezes immediately. His lips part, like there's something he's going to say, and at the last second he bites it back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"You're adorable," Roman says, disgustingly fond.

"I'm this close to beating you into a pulp again," Jason warns. "So why don't you shut the fuck _up,_ you piece of shit."

"Hey, I'm not the one who hit him," Black Mask replies, as if that's the only crime on trial. "Would you get _off_ of me, Red? This position is starting to hurt my back."

"I'm still debating the best way to kill you," Jason snarls back, "so _no."_

The look Roman gives him is pure condescension. "You're not going to kill me, so how about we dispense with the posturing. It's beginning to annoy." His voice is cold steel by the end, and Jason can see Dick shudder out of the corner of his eye. A _trained_ response to Roman's anger.

Jason's lips curl back in a snarl and he doesn't move.

Roman sighs, exasperated like a parent dealing with an unruly child, and says, "Do you recall me saying I had multiple copies of the contents of the envelope? I meant that. And they're not all in the penthouse, so even if you search you won't have it all. I'd like you to keep that in mind, what I currently hold over your _big bro,_ when I tell you once more to _get off of me."_

Jason doesn't want to. He doesn't think he's ever been as averse to anything as he is to letting Roman go, letting him get away from all of this. He wants to punch until Roman's skull cracks beneath his fists, wants to squeeze his neck until he's jerking for the breaths that Jason will never allow him, wants to pull his gun and put a bullet right between his eyes.

But he's seen the photos. He knows what Dick looks like in them, knows how horrific the fall-out would be if they got out, knows that it would _break_ Dick even more than he's already broken.

With great reluctance, Jason draws back, getting to his feet and then grabbing ahold of Dick's arm to pull his brother up too. He swallows when he sees Dick's still naked, bruises just beginning to form on his hips and neck. Jason glances around and spots Dick's clothes, grabbing them and bringing them over.

"Jay," Dick says quietly. "I-I need, I..." He trails off helplessly, but when he raises his hands, Jason understands the problem, jerking forward to begin untying his brother's wrists.

Dick murmurs a quiet thanks when it's done, and then begins to get dressed. The way he avoids looking at Black Mask is very obvious as the mobster gets to his feet, pointedly brushing himself off, not that Jason gives a damn about the fact that there are spots of red on Roman's white shirt.

"We're leaving," Jason snarls when Roman opens his mouth. He doesn't care about whatever was going to come out of the man's mouth; it would probably just lead to Jason punching him again.

Roman smirks at him but doesn't speak, and then watches Dick finish dressing, watches as the hero reaches up with shaking fingers to pull off the collar. He keeps his silence right up until Dick passes him on the way to the door, taking ahold of Dick's wrist in an extremely loose grip. Dick freezes like he's been grabbed bodily.

"I'll see you soon, sweetheart," Black Mask purrs, and then lets go, not saying a word as Jason leads Dick out of the room and out of sight.

* * *

Dick can feel Jason hesitate when they get to his motorcycle, but Dick pays it no mind, walking forward and sitting on the bike. They've shared plenty of times; the actions of tonight don't change that, though it's kind of Jason to consider whether or not Dick wants to be touched right now.

But he's fine. Nothing he hasn't done before. Really not a big deal.

And he's going to keep repeating those words in his mind until his heart stops trying to beat its way out of his chest.

He can feel how tense Jason is when the younger man gets onto the bike in front of him, starting it and pulling them out onto the street. His shoulders keep tightening and then relaxing, his legs twitching as he shifts, his hands holding a vice grip on the handles. He's amped up, angry, probably a little panicked too.

Dick doesn't have it in him to comfort his brother at the moment, so he doesn't, closing his eyes and resting his head against Jason's back, letting the cold air soothe him as it slides through his hair.

"Where are you taking us?" he asks after a few minutes, raising his head to put his lips close to Jason's ear to make it easier to hear him.

Jason tenses and hesitates again, then draws in a slow breath and lets it out. "The cave," he says, voice perfectly even.

Dick's eyes widen. "I don't think that's a good idea," he says quickly.

Jason snorts. "Really? Wonder why."

"Jay—"

"Bruce and I need to have a talk," Jason growls. "Probably with my fists. Maybe a gun to the face, too. We'll see how I feel."

Dick shakes his head. "Jason, it was _years_ ago," he says urgently. "There's no need—"

"You telling me you wouldn't punch Willis in the face if you got the chance?" Jason challenges, sending Dick into stunned silence. Because _what?_

"Bruce isn't like Willis," Dick says dumbly, still trying to wrap his head around the comparison. It's impossible. "Your father beat you, this is just—"

"Just _what?"_ Jason snaps. _"Just_ a punch? You gonna excuse it away? Because damn, Dick; I saw the photo, and the force behind a hit like that could've shattered your _jaw."_

Dick grimaces; yeah, it really had hurt. But he understood. Jason just needs to understand. "He didn't mean to, he was just upset and wearing his gauntlets that time—"

The motorcycle swerves as Jason momentarily loses control, and Dick shrieks, clinging to his brother as they narrowly avoid slamming into the next lane of cars.

When they're driving steadily again, when Dick's heart has stopped trying to escape his chest, Jason lowly says, _"That_ time?" Dick's breath catches. "As in, he's hit you on more than one occasion?"

Dick can't think of what to say in response. Technically, sure, Bruce has hit him a few times, but it's not like what Jason's trying to imply, it's not _abuse,_ that's ridiculous. Bruce isn't the one they should be focusing on, _Roman_ is. They didn't get the information they were after because Jason interrupted, and Roman still has the photographs, _and_ he knows who Jason is—there are more important things to be worrying about at the moment than if Bruce loses control every once in a while.

"Don't go to the cave," Dick says, sounding so small. "Don't start something with Bruce, please. We have—we have bigger things to worry about right now. This doesn't matter."

"This doesn't matter," Jason echoes, sounding incredulous. "Alright, tell me something, Dickie—if Bruce hit _Damian,_ outside of training, what would your response be?"

The mere idea of it makes fire lick at Dick's gut. If anyone dared to lay their hands on Damian, Dick would burn them to the ground. If Bruce actually hit Damian—

Dick buries his face in Jason's back and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Yeah," Jason says softly. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

* * *

It's not just Bruce in the batcave when they get there, and if Dick believed for a moment that Jason would listen to him, he'd be begging for them to turn around and leave. They can't do this in front of Tim and Damian. This isn't—Jason can't do this now.

"If I said please," Dick says quietly as they get off the bike, needing to _try,_ "would you stop?"

Jason looks at him, expression filled with such pity that it makes something deep inside him rankle, and shakes his head without a word, heading towards Bruce.

Tim looks over at them, smiling in greeting, but it takes him barely a second to sense the mood, expression shifting immediately to mission-ready. "What happened?"

Bruce raises his head from the microscope _just_ as Jason reaches him, and thus doesn't have any time to react before Jason punches him square across the jaw, knocking him off the stool he was perched on.

Both Tim and Damian shout in alarm, starting forward, but Dick steps into their path with a heavy look, and they halt.

"Don't get in the middle of this," Dick says quietly. He's so _tired._ He doesn't want to handle this, not after he just handled the confrontation with Roman.

"What's going on, Grayson?" Damian demands, probably thinking that his bossy tone masks the worry in his eyes.

Dick sighs and doesn't answer, turning his head to watch Jason and Bruce. Bruce has gotten to his feet and is in a ready stance, but Jason doesn't try to attack again, just stands tall, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"This is your only warning, Bruce," Jason says dangerously. "If you _ever_ touch him again—if you ever touch _any_ of them—I will put a bullet between your eyes. The world might need Batman, but it doesn't need an abusive one."

Bruce's eyes flick over to Dick and then back to Jason. "I don't—"

Jason laughs, cold and cruel. "Oh, don't even try, you utter dickwad. I won't buy your excuses any more than I bought Dick's. I finally get it, why Dick jumps to attention when you call, why he's your Golden Boy—you conditioned him into obedience with violence and emotional manipulation. You aren't any better than Black Mask."

Dick turns sharply to Tim and Damian. "Please leave," he says.

Tim frowns. Damian looks affronted by the idea of being kept out of something. "This seems like something we should know about—"

"Tim," Dick cuts him off. "Please go. I will explain later, but _please."_

His brother watches him for another moment and then nods. "We'll be in the kitchen with Alfred." Damian puffs up, probably about to argue the point further, but the words die in his throat at whatever he sees in Dick's expression.

"Okay, Grayson," Damian says quietly, and follows Tim out of the batcave and up into the Manor.

He turns back to Jason and Bruce's conversation, catching Bruce asking, "What does Roman Sionis have to do with this?"

"Well, it seems the way Dick framed the situation was a little _skewed_ when he told us he and Black Mask slept together. See, the way _he_ said it made it seem like he and Roman fucked once while Dick was drunk a few years ago, and that was that. But it seems what _actually_ happened was Black Mask took an emotionally vulnerable _teenager_ and spent weeks abusing him."

Bruce's gaze snaps over to Dick, and he tenses under the intensity in his father's eyes. "Dick?"

"Jason's exaggerating," Dick tries. It's instinct by now, to hide and deny first, to not let them know what truly happened, how truly broken he is. Hide the worst of it so they won't hate him. Won't see how much a failure he is, how weak.

"I'm really not, though," Jason says forcefully. "He took countless photographs of you, Dick, which I think I'm gonna trust more than your obviously biased point of view." Jason looks back at Bruce. "That's where _you_ come in, asshat."

"Jason—" Dick chastises, exasperated, but neither of the other men pay him any attention.

"In one of the photos that will require me scrubbing my mind with bleach to ever forget, Dick has a _gigantic_ bruise on his face. And apparently, _you_ are the one who gave him it. Wearing your gauntlets, in fact. If I didn't want to protect Dick and make sure no one ever sees these photos, I'd force you to stare at this one so that you can understand _exactly_ the damage you caused."

"When was this?" Bruce asks quietly, looking at Dick.

Dick's throat is dry, and he can't look Bruce in the eye. "After Jason's death. I came to talk to you in the cave..."

Bruce draws in a slow breath, hands clenching at his sides. "And I hit you," Bruce confirms, still so quiet. "Told you to get out of my house, as if it wasn't yours, too. As if you weren't grieving, too."

There's nothing Dick can possibly say to that, so he stays silent.

"Black Mask found you after that?" Bruce asks next, and it's that controlled tone he uses whenever he's trying to keep his anger in check.

"I—" Dick starts, and stops himself, because he doesn't know what to say here, either. Admit that he _called_ Roman? That he brought it all upon himself? That this is all just a gigantic overreaction by everyone because it's _his fault?_ "No, I...I found him. I... _called_ him."

A pause, and then, "How did you have his phone number, Dick?"

_Because I'm an idiot who let myself get wrapped up in Black Mask, who went home with the man instead of staying in the bar until I sobered up._

"Roman said _again,"_ Jason says slowly, working the thought through. "He said that the time after my death was it happening _again._ So when was the first time?"

"After—" _Bruce fired me, screamed at me, told me to get out of his house. After I was kicked out of my home with nothing more than the clothes I was wearing and fifteen dollars I spent on alcohol trying to forget the look on Bruce's face as he cast me aside._ "After I...stopped being Robin."

"Goddammit," Bruce breathes, and when Dick's head jerks up to look at his father, the man looks so _devastated._ "That was me too. I told you to get out. You...ran. You—disappeared, I couldn't find you, your Titans didn't know where you'd gone, it was _weeks_ before you turned up in Metropolis, staying with Clark for a few days." He shakes his head a little. "Did Sionis have you that whole time?"

Dick gapes at Bruce, at the implication that he'd been searched for, that Bruce had _looked_ for him, hadn't forgotten him.

"I—he didn't _have_ me, but I was with him—"

"Wait hold up!" Jason interrupts. He removes his helmet and sets it down, looking between them incredulously. "What do you mean that was _you too?_ I thought Dick left to strike out on his own, or whatever, become his own hero. Are you telling me you _kicked him out?"_

Bruce purses his lips. Jason's jaw drops.

"He was seventeen!" he yells. "He's your _son!_ And you put him on the street? Are you serious right now? God, no wonder he hated me when I came around! You'd ripped everything away from him and then given it all to someone else!"

"And thrown in an adoption to top it all off," Dick mutters to himself under his breath, wrapping his arms around himself.

But he forgot how sound in the batcave echoes, travels across large spaces, and both Jason and Bruce pause, turning to look at him.

Dick puts his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "No, I—I didn't mean...I'm sorry, that wasn't—"

"Don't fucking apologize," Jason says gruffly. "I'm sick of you having to apologize for having feelings like a normal human being and not this perfect golden standard you feel you have to be. That _he_ feels you have to be."

"It's not like that," Dick protests.

"It is," Jason disagrees tiredly, wiping a hand down his face. "It is. Fuck." He looks back at Bruce, something heartbroken in his gaze. "He was _seventeen,"_ he says again, quiet and incredulous. "And you took away his entire life. You put him in Black Mask's path. You did this to him."

"My decisions are what led to me being here, Jason," Dick says firmly. _"I_ made the decision to go home with Roman, and to stay for weeks afterwards. _I_ made the decision to call him after your death, and to remain there for a month afterwards."

"Yeah?" Jason asks. "Tell me something then, Dick; when you were seventeen—KKA a minor—and your father kicked you outalso taking Robin away from you, an identity your _mother_ gave you—and you had literally no belongings and no place to stay, what did you do?"

Dick frowns. "I told you, I went—"

"Home with Roman, yeah, I got that part," Jason agrees, waving a dismissive hand. "But there's a middle step you're leaving out. How did you _meet_ Black Mask? How the fuck did you go from leaving Wayne Manor to ending up in a mobster's bed?"

Dick cringes at the phrasing. He licks his lips nervously and says, "Well, I had some money in my pocket, so I went to a bar to get drunk so I could—could forget the events of that night for a little while, and Roman was there. He recognized me as Bruce Wayne's son, decided to take me with him."

"So you were drunk off your ass after emotional trauma," Jason simplifies. "And an intelligent sociopath found you, one with a grudge against your father, and decided he wanted you, so he got a vulnerable _teenager_ to agree to follow him."

Dick stares at his brother, speechless. No, that's not—no, Jason's framing it in a way that makes Dick the victim in this scenario, but he's not a victim. Sure, Roman manipulated him, played to his weak spots, he can admit that. But it's because Dick was weak enough to let him. He's not a _victim._ Victims need protection and help and people to back them up. They need support systems and therapy and to know it's not their fault.

But he's not a victim. He did this to himself. It _is_ his fault.

"No, it's...I—" His breathing's picking up a little.

"And then the second time," Jason continues, his eyes so _sad,_ "your little brother had just died, your father had just hit you, and you were once more kicked out of your home. More trauma, now physical as well as emotional. Your brain made the connection to the last time you were in a position like that, and you had his phone number. And he _used_ you."

"Stop," Dick breathes.

"You needed real help, someone to _actually_ care for you, help you, and instead you ended up back in the hands of someone who only wanted to possess you because you were the son of someone he despised."

"Jason," Dick says, voice strangled. Tears sting his eyes.

"You are the innocent party in this entire situation, Dick," Jason says firmly. "Roman and Bruce are to blame, not you. You were a child betrayed by the one entrusted to look after you. You were a child manipulated by a criminal with years of experience hurting people. You did nothing wrong."

He's crying now, his whole body shaking. "No. No, I—"

"You _did nothing wrong,"_ Jason says again. "It's not your fault, Dick. _They_ failed, not you. It's _not your fault."_

Dick's knees buckle and he goes to the floor, hunching in on himself, crying openly now. He hears Jason move towards him, feels the arm his brother wraps around him, tucking him against his side.

"It's not your fault," Jason whispers again, and then helps Dick back to his feet, keeping his arm around Dick's shoulders.

"I'm gonna take him up to bed," Jason tells Bruce, voice quiet. Dick just clings to his brother, feeling like a ship in a storm, everything just too much. _"You_ have work to do; Black Mask has multiple copies of photos of teenage Dick in compromising positions, and he knows who I am. It's _your_ job to fix this shit, since you're the reason it ever happened to begin with."

Dick doesn't have the energy to argue that point, to say they can't put the shit Roman's done on Bruce's shoulders, so he just tucks his head against Jason and lets his brother take him upstairs, avoiding the others in the kitchen and making it up to Dick's bedroom. Jason places him on the bed, and then removes his shoes for him, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his dresser.

"Here," he says quietly, passing them over to Dick, and Dick mutters a quick _thank you_ before changing, curling up on the bed when he's done.

"Get some rest," Jason says. "Everything can wait 'till tomorrow. I'll make sure the batbrats give you some space." He heads towards the door.

"Hey, Jay?" Dick stops him. His brother looks back to him curiously. "Thank you," Dick says, quiet and honest and thick with tears. "Just—thank you."

Jason nods, swallowing thickly. "Anytime. Now get some rest."

* * *

It's the coward's path, but when Dick wakes up early the next morning, he gets dressed and sneaks out the window.

He grabs his motorcycle and takes the long way to Bludhaven, breathing in the crisp morning air, enjoying the sun on his skin as it begins to rise. Everything feels simple at times like this, when the people on the roads are sparse and the air is as clear as Gotham-Bludhaven air gets. It's nothing compared to being in the air, but speeding along the highway on a bike is a nice second place.

When he reaches his apartment, he drives around the block a few times to slow himself down, come back down, and then he parks in the garage before heading up to his apartment, unlocking the door with the spare key over the doorjamb.

There are photographs everywhere.

Pinned to the walls, arranged on the table, covering the floor. Countless photos, all of him, all of things he's done with Roman. Nausea twists in his gut, and his head jerks up as he hears footsteps coming from the hall down to his bedroom.

"Like what I've done with the place?" Roman asks, glancing around casually like he isn't surrounded by pornographic images of a teenager. "Your apartment was a little drab, I must admit."

"Just tell me what you want," Dick says quietly, shutting the door behind him. "Just...please."

Roman smiles, tilting his head at him. "Oh, sweetheart, are you still asking me that question? I know you aren't slow, but you certainly seem it every time you act like you don't understand."

"All of this to get one-up on Bruce," Dick says bitterly, avoiding looking at the pictures, keeping his attention on Roman.

Roman chuckles. "It certainly started that way, sure, and I must admit that the thrill of owning the Wayne heir is a pretty good power trip, but baby we moved past that a little bit ago, don't you think? Besides, with the new information I have, everything just got a _lot_ more interesting."

Dick takes the bait. "What are you talking about?"

"All those scars," Roman muses, eyes sliding up and down Dick's body like he can see them through his clothes. "All those lies you told me, the only times you would ever stick to a lie, because otherwise you knew better. Meant the truth behind them was important, right? I was always so curious. But I'm patient, I do my time, make my investments. And boy has this paid off for me, hasn't it, sweetheart?"

"Why don't you just speak plainly," Dick snaps. "I'm tired of this. I'm so fucking _tired."_

Roman raises his eyebrows. "Oof. Tough night? Was the Bat not happy with Red for rescuing you?"

Dick opens his mouth to argue, and then freezes. "I—what?"

Roman smirks, eyes dark. "The scars never made sense. But your dead little brother is the Red Hood? And the Red Hood is rumored to be the second Robin? So I looked it up; Jason Todd's death was reported only a few months after the second Robin vanished. And the _first_ Robin stopped showing up right around the time _we_ met. So many coincidences, hm?"

Dick can't think, can't _breathe—_

"I always did like you in blue and black," Roman compliments. "The Nightwing suit really _is_ flattering, Richard."

There's a buzzing in his head, the sheer _panic_ almost overwhelming. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Roman tuts, shaking his head. "Now, now, there's no need for lies. I know the truth of you. I know who you all are." He glances around, gaze lingering on some of the photos. "And on the civilian side, I have _these._ Quite a spot you're in, sweetheart."

Dick rakes a hand through his hair, agitated as his body floods with adrenaline. "I get it, you've got me, you're in control. So what _now?"_

Roman sits down at the head of his dining table, gesturing for Dick to sit at the other end. Then he says, _"Now,_ Richard, we discuss the terms of my ownership."

Dick swallows heavily. "Ownership?" Roman hums in confirmation. "Of what?"

And Roman smiles like the devil when he says, "Well, of _you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, there isn't another chapter coming. There _might_ be another fic. Or maybe I'll just leave all of you guys with this cliffhanger forever. Sounds a smidge appealing 😉
> 
> UPDATE: There is [another fic now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22588495/chapters/53980336), all y'all are supportive bullies, now go enjoy!
> 
> Love y'all 😁


End file.
